


Settling Embers

by LittleLinor



Series: Ren's To Blame [2]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: D/s, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 16:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7445437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chrono learns to want, Ibuki learns to ask.<br/>An evening of domesticity and learning what relationships are made of.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7266073">But Your Fangs Were Already In</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Settling Embers

**Author's Note:**

> Ibuki's POV this time. Not much content warning, but it does hint at past abuse.  
> Speaking of which, I'm posting this before bushi pulls a zexal and tries to excuse Rive even more.

Two months into this relationship, and you're starting to get almost uncomfortable with how comfortable you feel.  
There was no big declaration, no special confession, no ritual explicit decision to kickstart it. Only Chrono's silent declaration of intent, and a whispered _next time_ to echo the offended one he'd given you a mere couple of weeks before. And just like that, you found yourself going back to him.  
Trusting.  
It's a strange and unsettling feeling. You're not used to feeling safe, or cared for. The most you'd had, until now, was your friends, when you were actually around them, and those times had been rare. Plan G, ironically, had been your biggest chance to spend time with them. But even then, there'd been a distance. Katsuragi knew you mostly as a former enemy, despite his efforts to treat you like a person. Kai and Miwa you'd been more comfortable with, at least, but Kai is always in a world of his own, and you've known Miwa long enough by now to know that a part of him will follow Kai wherever he goes.  
And then Mamoru. Too nice, too gentle Mamoru, who went out of his way to befriend you even as you followed questionable paths.  
Friendship you were finally starting to experience. But your awkward attempts at maintaining friendships had not prepared you for this feeling of constant presence, for this warmth at your back.  
It's in the little things. Texts messages, here and there during the day, checking up on you and asking about your day. They continue what Mamoru had started, and make you feel, for the first time in your life since you left school, and honestly even before that, like you _couldn't_ just up and leave for god knows where on a whim without someone taking notice.  
To others, it may have felt stifling. To you, it's finally seeing a safety net under your continuous fall.  
You take to checking your phone more often, little breaks that ease you from your usual cold focus on your work and remind you of—yourself. How _was_ your day, after all? You didn't stop to think about it, before, not that often, anyway. Now the words and feelings flow from you—not in any way verbose, or expansive, but still you manage to give little insights.  
These days, when you go to sleep with exhaustion that would usually leave you drained in the morning, you're actually aware of why. And over time, as you start paying attention, as you get the chance (the gentle order) to talk about it, _tell_ someone about the frustrating cold leads or the aggressive association staff, you find the sapping tension easing out, just as you become aware of it.  
It honestly leaves you at a loss, but you're not complaining.  
(You start, over time, finding the bright little things you can talk about too)

He takes you out. There's no better word for it, and sometimes you stare at yourself with disbelieving amusement, but the fact remains: when he says _let's go somewhere_ , you do.  
It allows for your own timetable, of course; there are times when you can't make it, and you have yet to get a flippant response when you're forced to decline, but at any other time, you find yourself following, meeting up.  
You wonder if he'll let you pay sometimes. “I'm the one who invited you,” he says, and the fact that he does on his modest budget when you've saved months of accumulated frugal living on cushy Association salary makes you feel guilty.  
But it also makes you happy, and honestly you're more guilty about _that_.  
He looks perfectly and casually in control when doing it, though, and smiles at you afterwards, and that makes you feel a little better.  
(You're starting to think Ren's teasing assessment of you and your tastes was actually right, and you'd feel offended if you could be bothered)

The first time you go to his apartment, aside from the one scheduled dinner he insisted on to make you interact with his aunt on grounds other than saving the world, it's his initiative.  
You'd had a long and stressful day, and had called him on impulse, counting on his voice and his narration of his own day to calm you down. And he busted you almost instantly.  
Before you knew it, you were on the train to his place (because no, sometimes you have to put your foot down, and you are _not_ making him cross the city late at night), and then roped into helping him finish cooking, a whirlwind of activity that left you little time to think.  
You go back to his room after dinner, just the two of you, and you find yourself leaning against his legs, his hands in your hair. And the fight, the tension eased out of you, slowly, the urge to curl up and sleep growing the more you stayed there, held by his body and lulled by your two voices.  
You stay the night, and nothing happens that movies would have predicted, and you like it that way.

The second time, it's a last minute decision, a spur of the moment impulse after a date, when neither of you really wants to leave. You go back to his place and he teaches you how to make one of his favourite dishes, while you give him insight on the latest cards released for Spike Brothers and Megacolony, and your analysis on how to counter them.  
You spend half the evening fighting (a mostly even record), the rest chatting while occasionally glancing at the news, and eventually you decide that you can, again afford to stay the night.

The third time you spend the night at Chrono's, it's at your request.  
It's a couple of months of growing domesticity even when separated, of developing trust and tiny, tiny hints of self-indulgence. It's being able to tell yourself that you've had a shit day. It's boarding the train at the end of that last stressful meeting and thinking about your apartment and going _no_.  
You hadn't even realised how lonely you were until you got to be something else.  
So you text him. You don't dare call: it feels too vulnerable; you're not sure you'll be able to shield your voice completely if he says no. You text him, short and to the point, _can I come over tonight_ , and it's smiling fondly in public when the _sure, I'm already there. Something up?_ comes, before switching trains at the next stop, transiting earlier than usual.  
_Did you have dinner already?_ your phone vibrates again as you make your way to the second train.  
_Not yet, but I can if that's easier._  
You board.  
_Mikuru-san's not here, I'll wait for you. Can you get some ground meat on the way?_  
_Of course._  
Half an hour and a quick stop by a convenience store later, you're at his door.

His voice calls out to you after you knock, a small wait, and then he's there, apron on, hair a little messy, and you feel so, so grateful. You're not sure to whom or what.  
He stands on tiptoes to pull you down for a quick peck and smiles with one corner of his mouth.  
“Come on, get in, I'll get this started and then I'm yours.”  
You push down the voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like Ren and do as you're told, closing the door behind you and taking off your shoes.  
The apartment smells subtly of cooking rice, warmth and light radiating from the kitchen into the otherwise dimly lit living room, a faint hum of unintelligible voices coming from the tv. He takes your grocery bag with a casual “thanks” and walks around the counter back to the kitchen, peering into it.  
“Huh… what's...”  
“I bought something extra for you and Mikuru-san,” you explain with a small smile. “You didn't leave me time to tell you.”  
“Oh...” He takes the box of sweets out of the bag, sets it on the counter, and reaches for the meat. “Thanks. You didn't have to.”  
“… I'm grateful for the invitation,” you try to explain.  
He pauses, then sets the meat in front of him, walking around to you again.  
“Kouji.”  
Something in you flutters at the use of your name, just as your eyes are caught by his.  
“You're always welcome here, okay?” he continues. “It's not something you have to pay back.”  
He keeps his eyes on yours, and you can't help but nod, your throat a little tight. He stares at you, as if studying your reaction, and then finally gives a nod of his own, resolute, gives you a little smile, and heads back to start heating his pan.  
You hesitate, then put your bag down on the table, before following him, staying at a distance to avoid getting in his way but observing his movements.  
He's already prepared the rest of his ingredients, and in less than a minute the meat goes into the pan, sizzling right away. There's efficiency in his movements, something to the point but not hurried, a reassuring casualness that almost hides how productive he actually is. You watch as he adds ginger, sauce; you commit the confident movements of his hands to memory; by the time the mixture starts cooking down, you're so focused on them that you almost don't notice when he puts down the bottle he was holding and moves towards you.  
“You okay?” he asks, relaxed.  
“Mmm.”  
It's the truth. You are, much more than earlier already, eased into comfort by the atmosphere of his home.  
He reaches for you and gives you a hug, arms encircling your waist. It takes you by surprise, but by now you're starting, at least, to get used to his displays of affection. And for all you're not very good at initiating them yourself, you appreciate those he does fully.  
You let your arms drape over his shoulders.  
“'m almost done,” he says. “Help me set the table?”  
You nod, but don't make to let go. You wait for him to do it instead, and he stays tightly wound around you for almost a minute more, head against your chest.  
When he finally lets go, he nods you towards one of the cupboards.  
“Bowls are in there. I already prepared some salad, but if you can put some rice in those, it'd help.”

You set the table. In a few minutes, he's served the meat and joined you with two small salads, and turned off the tv, giving a slow sigh of contentment.  
The entire room seems filled with it, just like it still holds the sweet smell of ginger.  
You chat as you eat. Or he does more than you, to be quite honest. His exams are coming up soon, and with the increased stress, a lot of his classmates have taken to being more extroverted than usual, giving him many stories of outlandish stress relief to tell. You remember what he'd been like back when you observed him before meeting him, when you had to figure out who this kid you were sent to was and where to leave him cards discreetly. He's always been kind, and that much was obvious even back then, but with the months and the passion and new friends Vanguard brought him, his knack for paying attention to people has blossomed, and it brings warmth to your heart.  
Despite all your clumsiness and the unfair expectations given to him by his father, despite all the pain and loneliness in his life even before that, despite what he's had to face, he's grown into something strong and beautiful, and you feel both humbled and strangely proud of him.  
Mostly you just want to be here and experience that strength of his for yourself.  
So you listen to his stories, and find yourself chuckling without even trying, and although you don't have much fun memories of those times yourself, you do have older ones, from when you were still friends with Kai—and Miwa, in particular—before your life took a turn for the worse, and you start sharing those, tentatively, smiling at his disbelief about Kai's former personality.  
“Well I guess the arrogant part hasn't changed, at least,” he grumbles with a roll of his eyes, and you have to hold back at laugh, picturing Miwa's reaction if he heard. “No, seriously, I mean it. Do you and Shion have a Type or something? You keep attracting questionable people.” He pauses. “All right, maybe it's the opposite, it's not _you_ having a type if they're the ones drawn to you.”  
“I assure you, Kai is much better company than Shinonome Shouma,” you say, still smiling.  
He makes a face.  
“That's not exactly _hard_.”  
“Hmm, I might have met worse.”  
(Do aliens count as people? If you consider Cray units as such, then you probably have to treat the deletors the same, don't you? But putting it like that makes the whole thing sound unsettlingly ordinary)  
He eyes you curiously, and you realise you've stopped eating.  
Damned be your brain for bringing back those memories _now_ of all times.  
“… I don't think I can talk about it yet,” you tell him quietly. “But I will. I promise.”  
His eyes are still on you, their green piercing, but he nods.  
“… I _want_ to tell you,” you add, because you do. You want him to know. It scares you, but you want him to know everything.  
He smiles, eyes and a corner of his mouth.  
“Hey, it's okay. I'll wait.”  
You nod. And then, to defuse the tension, you joke:  
“Are you including yourself in that Type, then?”  
He smirks.  
“You tell me.”  
And here it is _again_ , the way he pushes you off balance just like that, knocking the ground from under your feet with no apparent effort. And sometimes you love it but sometimes, sometimes it scares you to the core.  
(You wonder guiltily if you don't actually like that, too)  
You look away, trying to find words for this. Because now you have to _answer_ , and lying to Chrono is something you don't want to do again, and you're not like some people you know, who can throw around teasing, obvious falsehoods casually, joke and flirt with no pressure. You can't just give him witty nonsense and make it somehow funny enough to warrant an escape.  
You have to answer.  
You look away a little.  
“… I'm still not sure _why_ you're drawn to me, to be honest.”  
To your surprise, he hesitates too, looking away with an almost-pout.  
“… depends what you mean by 'drawn',” he mumbles.  
You look up.  
“Hm?”  
“… What do you mean by 'drawn'? Just being around you, or actually wanting to date you?”  
The fact that despite looking somewhat embarrassed, he seems ready to talk about either of these things, especially the second one, leaves you in awe once more.  
… it might be pushing your luck, but…  
“… both?”  
He looks at you in amused disbelief.  
“What!?”  
“If you don't want to—”  
“No, fine, whatever,” he says, waving your argument down with one hand. “I'll do it. Okay. _Okay_.”  
He takes a deep breath, and even as flimsy-hearted as you feel right now, you can't help but find it cute.  
“I like being around you because—when all's said and done, you're a pretty nice guy? You're not petty, you don't go looking for reasons to cause drama, and you always try to do what you think is right, even if sometimes you go about it in the _dumbest_ , most unproductive ways,” he adds with a teasing smile, and you have to fight the urge to look away. “You're relaxing to be around, when you're not acting like a stalker,” and this time you _do_ look away, because he's just going to throw all your faults in your face while still saying something good, isn't he? “And you're a hell of a fighter, that's good too. I don't often get as fired up as I do when fighting you.”  
“I suppose that's good,” you say, feeling both flattered and utterly defeated.  
He stays silent.  
You look up. He's looking towards the window, chopsticks forgotten, his lips and jaw tight like he's resisted biting at his lips and just ground his teeth instead. And he's—he's _blushing_ , you realise, blinking in shock, he's blushing and curling his hands into loose fists, thumb rubbing at the table.  
You haven't seen him so worked up since the fate of the world was at stake.  
“Chrono?”  
“So about that second part.”  
You shut up. Then, because it's honestly unfair to make him do all the talking, as _usual_ , you kick yourself into responding.  
“Yes?”  
“… so I already _kind_ of liked you, but I hadn't _thought_ about dating you, like, I didn't feel the _drive_ … but then...” He bunches his fists suddenly and pushes himself up and away from the table, and all but yells, making you jump: “ _AUGH, it's embarrassing!_ ”  
You stare.  
He lets himself tilt back towards you, face determined and fists anchored to the table.  
“ _Okay._ So. At Ren's.”  
(You want to disappear, but your hair isn't long enough)  
“I don't know _how_ that guy knew I'd react like that, but he knew. He freaking played me perfectly. I'm still mad.” He sighs, looking away again, and you finally look up from under your bangs again, daring more than a few fleeting glances. “… I got in… and I saw you… and then he _pushed you down_ and I...” His voice gets breathy, _rough_ , all too reminiscent of how he gets, when he's angry, but also—those moments, new and intimate and still breathtaking, when he has you shaking in his grip and his eyes shine—and your heart falls into your stomach both at the sound and at the realisation of what this _means_ about how that day actually went down. “… I wanted to see more. I wanted to _do_. I wanted… I wanted to hold you.” He swallows and makes a face, quick but self-(critical). “I saw the expression on your face and it was enough. I'd never reacted like that before.”  
“… you were _already there_?” you choke out.  
He nods, still looking away.  
“I think Ren let me in as soon as you said yes. I was behind the window. So I saw him tie you down.”  
You feel dizzy. And you don't know what it says about you that a good part of it is embarrassed, mortified, shivering excitement at the fact that _he saw you_. It makes your heart lodge at the back of your throat.  
He saw you bared and manhandled and restrained, and that would shake you enough on its own, but knowing that he _liked_ it, that he _wanted_ you for it…  
You bite your lip and press your forehead to your hand, holding yourself up with your elbow on the table.  
The skin of your neck burns, the hair on your nape almost standing, and you almost want him to grip it again just to relieve the tension and sensation assaulting you.  
Something brushes your hand, making you jump. He tightens his hold on it before you can. You look up, from where his hand has taken yours, to his face, still flushed, but smiling slightly.  
“But, y'know, most of all I just wanted to pet your head. And make sure you were all right. So that's why that's the first thing I did.”  
“I...” your voice is raspy, your throat raw, “I don't know whether I should thank Ren or kill him.”  
He laughs quietly.  
“I'm with you on that one.”  
“Maybe we should teach him a lesson.”  
“Even if we _could_ , are you sure he wouldn't enjoy it?”  
You wince.  
“You have a point.”  
He grins, then sobers a little. His thumb rubs the side of your hand.  
“Y'know… even if it _was_ awkward as hell… I'm still glad it happened.”  
You try to push the words out of your throat. He frowns.  
“… Kouji. Are you happy right now? I mean—are you happy with this.”  
“ _Yes_ ,” you blurt out instantly, fervently, because your heart is lurching and _you don't want to lose this_. You don't want to let go. “It makes me happy. _You_ make me happy.”  
He smiles again, relieved, and you squeeze his hand, hoping he'll understand what you're trying to say.  
“… I wouldn't have asked to come otherwise,” you finally say. “It makes me… happier than you know.”  
“Hehe...” His laugh is a little embarrassed, but bright, and you find yourself relaxing again, the warmth seeping back into you. Holding his hand feels right. “Good.”  
You honestly wouldn't mind being at his feet right now and abandoning dinner altogether, and you're starting to question your life choices.  
Instead you decide to be responsible and remind him of it.  
“Chrono, the food is going to get cold...”  
“—right. Thanks.”  
He lets go. You're both relieved and disappointed. 

You leave the table a few minutes later, feeling slightly too full in a way that's indulgent but not quite uncomfortable yet, and put everything in the dishwasher before he can. It makes you feel slightly less guilty about him cooking for you, although it also makes him look at you with amusement.  
“Want a shower?” he asks as you walk back towards him.  
“If it's all right...”  
“Of course it's all right, silly. I'll go grab you a towel.”  
He meets you in the bathroom less than two minutes later, dumps the towel into your arms.  
“You know, you really should leave some of your stuff here,” he points out.  
“Are you planning to make this a regular occurrence?”  
“Yes,” he says, matter of fact. “I'll go finish my homework while you're in there, I had some English left.”  
“Do you need help?”  
“Should be fine. Go take your shower.”  
You chuckle.  
“Yes, yes.”

You join him after lingering perhaps a little too long in the shower, hair towel-dried but still slightly damp, and your shirt and trousers back on, the idea of hanging out in only your underwear making you feel much too awkward. He's lying back on his bed, legs hanging off the side, and typing away at his phone when you come in, freeing one of his hands to give you a little wave. You head towards his desk and put the rest of your folded clothes down on the chair.  
“That took you a while,” he points out, putting the phone down to look at you.  
“I had to wash my hair.”  
“Aaaah.”  
He extends a hand towards you, not moving from his spot, and after a second of hesitation you join him, sitting on the edge and letting yourself fall back and lean against his shoulder. The height difference makes it a little awkward, but after some slight shuffling of your hips towards the side, you manage to get your head level with his.  
“So, what got you so worked up anyway?” he asks quietly.  
“… was it that obvious?”  
He nudges you a little.  
“Y'know, you don't _have_ to have a reason to come, makes me happy when you do, but you don't usually _ask_. I figured there was a reason.”  
“Mm.” You sigh, close your eyes. “It's been a long day.”  
“The association?”  
“Among other things. But the internal politics are especially draining. Having to deal with the balance between those who believed in Myoujin Ryuzu, those who are merely trying to profit from the situation as much as possible, and those who genuinely want to rebuild an institution that serves all fighters… it makes meetings a minefield, and encountering any of them individually even worse. They might respect me openly, but many dislike me, and I'm aware a lot of them think of me as a tool.” You sigh. “Not that I can blame them.”  
“Don't say that...”  
“It's the truth. I do have… a history of letting myself be used for other people's agendas. At least with Kanzaki it was a conscious decision meant to overthrow him later. I can't say the same of the other cases.”  
He stays silent for a few moments. Then, quietly:  
“… even my dad, huh?”  
You can't find it in yourself to deny it.  
Another silence, and then he shifts, turning on his side so he can lean against the side of your chest and embrace you.  
“I'm sorry.”  
“You aren't at fault. In fact, I should probably be the one to apologise to you. His plan was unfair to you and I participated.”  
“You already did.”  
You nod. Try to remind yourself that his forgiveness is something that you already have, that you don't need to keep striving for it.  
It's a strange feeling.  
“… Kouji.”  
“Hm?”  
He shifts again, pushing himself up on one arm and looming over you, eyes alight with determination.  
“… I won't be like them. I promise. I'll never be like that.” He swallows as you stare up at him. “And if I ever treat you that way, dump my ass on the spot.”  
You blink.  
“Chrono...”  
“I mean it!”  
You're not sure you could. But maybe that's something you need to learn.  
You reach up to cup his cheek.  
“… I never imagined you would be.”  
He catches your hand where it rests on his cheek, squeezes.  
“You're not a tool to me, Kouji,” he breathes out, rough and fierce and surprisingly vulnerable.  
“I know.”  
And you do something you've only rarely done and push yourself up on your elbow to kiss him yourself. Slow, light, tender. Trying your best to give back some of the calm he creates in you.  
“… I know,” you whisper again when you part.  
You wish he could trust himself as much as you trust him.  
He nods, sighing.  
“Sorry.”  
“Don't.” You keep your hand on him and straighten, sitting up and bringing him with you. “You don't need to apologise,” you amend, trying to word your thoughts better. “You keep reassuring me, but what about you, Chrono?”  
His eyes flit away, and you know you've hit something. So you caress his cheek once before letting your hand fall and taking hold of his hand instead.  
“This may sound ironic coming from me,” you say, remembering the stern and less stern comments he and Mamoru have made, “but don't try to carry everything on your shoulders alone. I'm not here so you can take care of all my worries and keep yours to yourself.”  
He nods. You squeeze his hand lightly.  
“What are you afraid of?” you finally ask.  
“… being a bad person. Hurting you. Being arrogant enough that I make mistakes that you have to pay for.” He pauses, looks away. “… doesn't it scare you that I want to hurt you sometimes? Or that—that I got attracted to you over something like _this_?”  
“… Chrono.”  
“Mm?”  
“Even when you had every reason to hate me or want revenge on me, you didn't try to harm me a single time.”  
“'course not,” he mumbles. “You were doing things in a dumbass way but you weren't trying to _hurt_ anyone.”  
“And those aren't the words of someone who would gratuitously hurt others.”  
“… I guess.”  
“As for the other part...” You steel yourself, force yourself to get the words, the feelings out. You owe it to him, after he bared such intimate feelings to you earlier. “… you saw a part of me that I still struggle not to hate myself for and treated it like something to be _treasured_. Why would I be anything other than happy and grateful?”  
He looks back up at you, and you make yourself hold his gaze.  
“… well you could be pissed that I saw it at all,” he finally jokes with a faint smile.  
“That particular feeling is aimed at Ren, not you.”  
He chuckles, and it makes your heart warm up again.  
“… Chrono.”  
“Yeah?”  
“… I'll be honest. I was drawn to you long before Ren thought to set us up.”  
He smiles.  
“Yeah I kinda figured.”  
You blink.  
“… really?”  
“I wasn't _sure_ the first time, but when we tried again at your place… the way you talked about when I cut you… I figured that was why you didn't want to throw it away… Did I get it wrong?”  
Your face heats up.  
“… no. No, you were right. Although… it took me longer than that to realise why.”  
“Like how long?”  
“After our fight at Star Gate branch,” you admit, defeated, because _how ridiculous is that_ , and right on cue, he grins.  
“So you were into _that_ , huh?” he teases.  
“Don't,” you tell him, and he all but giggles, leaning his forehead on your shoulder.  
The gentleness, and not having to face his eyes right now, is what allows you to say the rest.  
“It just made me realise… that although I couldn't and shouldn't under the circumstances… I felt safer at the idea of having your strength at my side.”  
“… well. I'm here now.”  
“Which is still surprising to me, yes.”  
“C'mon, have a little faith.” He straightens, then shifts a little, sitting in a more stable way before extending his arms. “Come here.”  
“Hm?”  
“Don't make me say it twice. You'll see.”  
You give in, and lean into his hold. To your surprise, instead of making you lean against his chest, he catches your shoulders with a surprisingly strong grip, and lowers them and your head to his lap.  
You follow, fighting the loss of balance, and let yourself be cushioned on his thighs. You hope the angle and curtain of hair hide the sudden heat you feel on your cheeks.  
“Hmm,” he muses, “that's still gonna twist your back, right? Try pulling your legs up.”  
You do, definitely hiding your face this time, and let him adjust your position once you've pulled them up to the bed. It's surprisingly comfortable now that the strain on your waist is gone, and although you're still tense, it starts melting away as his hand combs into your hair.  
“So? Better, right?”  
“… it's nice.”  
His fingers scratch gently at your nape. You shiver, sigh in comfort, and shift to embrace him with one arm, nestling your head on his lap more fully. His hand stills, and you think his breath does, too, before he goes back to petting you.  
“… that's nice too.”  
“Hm?”  
“You reaching out.”  
He pauses, then combs through your hair again. You want to see the expression on his face just as much as you want to hide from it.  
You close your eyes instead.  
“… been thinking about doing this for a while,” he murmurs.  
You almost turn to face him, but the hand in your hair makes a pretty solid argument for staying where you are.  
“You have?”  
“Mm. It's new. … wanting things, I mean.”  
You stay silent, wait to see if he'll continue.  
“I didn't really want things before I started playing. Or didn't let myself? Whatever. I just did what I had to do. The only thing I wanted was to be able to take care of my damn self.”  
“Chrono...”  
“So it feels weird. I'm not used to it. … but I like it, I think.” He pauses. “… hey, Kouji.”  
“Hm?”  
“Can _I_ ask an awkward question? You know, while we're there.”  
You chuckle.  
“Go ahead.”  
“Why me?”  
Your eyes blink open.  
“Cause you know a bunch of strong fighters, right? So it can't be just that—you're friends with Kai, with Mamoru-san, with _Ren_ —hell, you've _been_ with Ren. He's stronger than I am, right? And you don't really get more overwhelming than him. And he's got—he's got _experience_ , he's not a beginner like me, so… Why me and not him? 'specially since you already got the _chance_.” He pauses, hand moving to your shoulder to grip lightly. “I'm not jealous, by the way, I'm just… confused?”  
You stay silent, grateful for the angle of your face, excusing you from having to look at him yet.  
How does one even explain something like this? You suddenly feel even more awe at his earlier openness. How does one explain the way his eyes made your heart stumble, the way both his criticism and his support anchored you, the way you found yourself drawn, inexorably, to his fire and his gentleness?  
Why him? Why indeed, when you should have known better, when even hoping would have been arrogant.  
But you did fall.  
Because—  
“… Ren is good at making one surrender. But you… you make me _want_ to.”  
His fingers stop moving, and you squeeze his knee in reassurance, trying to ease the staggered beating of your heart.  
“… I am not good with words,” you continue after a few silent moments. “But if you don't mind...” You turn, then, neck bent over his leg, the back of your head nestled in his lap, and look up at him, as determined as you can, “I can try to show you through my actions.”  
He smiles, a tiny thing at the corner of his mouth.  
“That's so like you.”  
You look away for a second, and he laughs.  
“ _A fight reveals everything about a person_ ,” he recites, mimicking your tone of voice. “Yeah, I get it. Don't worry.” He bends down, kisses you, bites on your lip with what almost sounds like a purr. “Guess you're gonna have to show me now huh? You sure you're ready for this?”  
And that smile, that _smile_ , grabs your heart like a fist and twists, and _that_ 's what you wish you could tell him. This feeling.  
“… _now?_ ” you ask, unsure whether you're daunted or hopeful.  
He laughs and straightens.  
“Nah not now. It's late and I have school tomorrow. But,” he adds, voice lower and breathy again, looking down at you, “how's this weekend sound?”  
“It—” (you curse yourself for _stammering_ , where did your composure go?) “It sounds good.”  
He smiles again, bright and happy and _content_ , and you still can't believe that you're the one to put that look of satisfaction on his face. He looks… serene, almost. His shoulders, his fingers filled with quiet, lazy determination.  
Like he's already looking into the future.  
For once, the thought isn't scary.

You'd almost have fallen asleep like this if he hadn't shifted himself, stomach rising as he yawns, barely reaching his mouth with his hand on time.  
“You should go to bed,” you say, pointing out the obvious.  
“Yeah I know,” he grumbles. “Sit up, I'll get your shirt.”  
You do as you're told, curling your legs and sliding them off the bed for balance as you sit. He stretches and stands up, rummaging in his cupboard for the shirt that's somehow become yours over the two last stays, an overlarge Vangarou promotional shirt he won for helping out with Dragon Empire branch events. The thought of it on him is still ridiculous enough to bring a smile to your face.  
“Here,” he says, tossing it at you. “I'll go get changed, give me a sec.”  
“No shower?”  
“Too tired. I'll take it tomorrow morning.” He yawns again. “'s it bother you?”  
You chuckle.  
“No, it's fine.”  
“Good.”  
He waves a little as he heads out of the room and towards the bathroom, and you take a moment to just feel the atmosphere. You're still unused to this. Being in his room, being treated like you have a place there. But the casualness of it helps. Him being so matter of fact about it is its own kind of assertiveness.  
It's almost starting to feel like home.  
You sigh and start undressing, unbuttoning your shirt first because you don't feel like getting up yet. It doesn't save you more than a few seconds, but you fold it anyway before mentally kicking yourself up and removing your trousers.  
You're still in your underwear when he gets back (you need to stop underestimating how fast he can be to get ready), and somehow it sends a little shiver of vulnerability down your spine.  
It's completely stupid. He's seen you shirtless several times, and you've been completely naked in front of friends before. But maybe it's the feeling of potential that prickles at your skin.  
He walks past you and the moment passes. As you unfold the tshirt, he flops down on his bed, shifting to the side to make room before patting the space next to him.  
You'd hesitated last time. You don't tonight. The shirt goes down around your head and over your chest, and you turn off the light and sit on the edge of the bed before lying down at his side.  
Finding a position to sleep in is harder. Alone, you tend to face the wall, a habit that, to your frustration, hasn't left you since childhood. But sharing a bed isn't something you're used to, and you don't have it in you to embrace him yet. You're not sure you even _want_ to. And even though neither of you takes up a lot of space, lying on your back would quickly make things cramped and awkward.  
In a strange way, you'd felt more ready to sleep with your head on his lap than you do now.  
To your surprise, he's the one who shifts to lie mostly on his back, side pressed against the wall. As you eye him with a questioning look, he grins sleepily and spreads out the arm closest to you.  
“Worth a try?” he asks.  
You nod silently and try, shifting closer and rolling to your side, your chest pressed to the side of his ribs, head not on his arm but his shoulder. And it feels—close, _too_ close in some ways, enough that your heart gives a little lurch as old reflexes spark inside your nerves, but with a deep breath, you put them to rest.  
You're no longer a shy, scared child. And the monsters who tainted your first steps into adulthood are out of reach. The deck you play is proof of that.  
There is no reason for you to be ruled by those fears anymore.  
So you breathe in deep again and let your head rest on his shoulder. And then, because you're feeling daring and your lower back does feel the strain a little, you hook one of your legs over part of his, slow enough to give him time to push you away.  
He doesn't.  
“Is that all right?” you ask.  
“Yeah—” he yawns. “'s good.”

You don't fall asleep for a long time, but when you do, it's to a hand in your hair and a heartbeat under your ear.


End file.
